Jesse stood in the center of the small glen, his hands braced against his hips, his chest tight with unwanted memories. Darkness surrounded him, taunting him with shadowed ghosts he thought he had put to rest years before. He inhaled deeply, determined to keep the images at bay, and filled his senses with the bouquet of odors floating on the night air. The clean, sweet scent of freshly cut hay, the heady scent of honeysuckle that grew wild on a distant fence, the musty smell of damp leaves.
With a sigh, he lifted his face to the heavens and closed his eyes. Though he tried to keep the images from forming, they pushed at him from every side. A blanket spread on the ground, and Mandy beneath him, her body hot and damp against his. With eyes still glazed with passion, she looked up at him while a soft smile of pleasure curved the corners of her full and sensuous mouth. He could almost feel her hands on his back as she soothed his fevered flesh with soft caresses of love.
Sucking in an angry breath, he fisted his hands against his eyes. But instead of blocking the image, he only added another memory. As the vision formed, the smell of gunpowder rose, choking him, and his body recoiled with the impact of the blast that had slammed into him that night so many years ago. Instinctively, he raised a hand to his shoulder, feeling again the bullet ripping through his flesh and the fiery pain that had dragged him to the ground.
But that pain was nothing compared to the pain that tore at his heart as the memory of her voice echoed through his mind.
No, Jesse, I can't.
He lifted his fists at the dark heavens and shook them. "Damn you, Mandy!" he roared. "Damn you for choosing your father over me!"
* * *
Two
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Jesse stopped his horse alongside Pete's and dug a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He shook one out, then offered the pack to Pete, the foreman of the Circle Bar.
Pete eyed him skeptically. "I prefer to roll my own," he grumbled disagreeably, but took one with a muttered, "obliged." In keeping with his own style of smoking, though, Pete pinched the filter off and tossed it to the ground.
Hiding a smile, Jesse clamped his own cigarette between his lips and dug a hand in his jeans pocket, working a lighter from its depths. He'd always had a fondness for Pete Dugan. In some ways, Pete had been more a father to him than Wade Barrister had ever been. It was Pete who'd picked Jesse up off the ground after his first bronc had thrown him, and it was Pete who had stuck Jesse's head in a horse trough when as a teenager he'd come home drunk the first time. It was also Pete who'd found Jesse the night he'd ridden his horse back into the barn after Lucas McCloud had put a bullet in his left shoulder.
Though Pete had cussed a blue streak, trying to convince Jesse he needed a doctor, he'd cleaned the wound and patched Jesse up as best as he could, then stood on the porch of the bunkhouse and watched Jesse drive away into the night.
Frowning at the unwanted memory, Jesse raked a thumb along the lighter's wheel, then cupped his hands around the flame as he drew it to the cigarette's end. Inhaling deeply, he passed the lighter to Pete, then blew out a thin stream of smoke and the memories along with it.
"Looks like you've got a good crop of calves this year," Jesse offered, gesturing to the cattle that grazed in the pasture below.
"Cain't complain."
Jesse nodded, hearing the pride behind the simple reply. "Who's giving the orders around here now that the old man's gone?"
Pete snorted. "Who do ya think?"
"And you're taking them?" Jesse asked in surprise.
"I listen, say yes'm real polite like, then do as I damn well please."
Jesse laughed, then leaned over to thump Pete on the back. "I always did like your style."
"Never did cotton to takin' orders from no woman. 'Specially one that cain't tell a bull from a steer." Pete twisted his head around just far enough to squint a look at Jesse through the smoke that curled from between his gnarled fingers. "You gonna be takin' over the reins now that you're back?"
Jesse shrugged, then squeezed the burned-out butt of his cigarette between two fingers before tossing it to the ground. "I suppose. At least until I decide what to do with the place."
"You mean you might sell?"
"I don't know," Jesse replied uncertainly. "I've got my own place up in Oklahoma now. Kind of hard to manage two places that far apart."
Pete shook his head, turning his gaze back on the cattle. "Cain't imagine the Circle Bar belongin' to anybody but a Barrister. They've owned this land long as I can remember."
They sat in silence, pondering the reality of that a moment, before Jesse said, "The old lady offered to buy me out." Though Pete's gaze never once wavered from the cattle, Jesse saw the tension mount in his shoulders on hearing of Margo's offer. "She said she'd do it to free me from any responsibilities or obligations that Wade might have burdened me with. Pretty generous of her, don't you think?"
Pete didn't answer, but continued to stare at the cattle below, his mouth set in a thin, grim line.
"Well, don't you think it's generous?" Jesse prodded.
Slowly, Pete turned his gaze on Jesse. "Margo Barrister never done nothin' in her life to benefit anybody but herself and you damn well know it, so what's your point in askin' me a damn-fool question like that?"
Jesse chuckled, then smooched to his horse, guiding him onto the narrow path that led toward the pasture below. "Just checking to make sure she hadn't softened up over the years," he called over his shoulder.
"Margo Barrister?" Pete snorted, but guided his own horse in behind Jesse's. "They'll be crankin' homemade ice cream in hell the day that old woman's heart softens."
Pete and Jesse were headed back to the Circle Bar's headquarters when Pete suddenly pulled up and held up a hand, indicating for Jesse to stop too. "Look over yonder," Pete murmured in a low voice, nodding toward the lake that lay about a quarter of a mile to the west.
Jesse looked but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. "What?"
"Down by the water's edge under that weepin' willow."
At that moment Jesse saw a flash of red streak from the bank and land with a silent plop, sending ripples on the water's surface radiating toward the distant shore. "Think we caught us a trespasser?" Jesse asked.
"Atta'd be my guess," Pete replied dryly.
"Well, I guess we better remind him that he's poaching on private property."
"Damn-fool kids," Pete muttered irritably, leading the way. "If I've told 'em once, I've told 'em a hunnerd times to keep off this land. And danged if I didn't just bait that hole myself last week."
Chuckling, Jesse fell in behind him, already sympathizing with whoever was fishing Pete's favorite spot. By the time Pete got through with him, the poacher's skin would be raw from the tongue-lashing he would give him.
"Hey! You there!" Pete yelled, reining his horse to a stop just shy of the willow tree.
A young boy, about twelve or so in Jesse's estimation, whirled, his eyes round with surprise. Immediately, he started scrambling, trying to gather up his fishing gear in order to make a run for it.
Jesse was out of the saddle and on the ground, his hand closed on the back of the boy's collar before the kid made three steps.
"Now hold on a minute," Jesse warned as the boy started twisting and fighting, trying to shake loose. When his warning wasn't heeded, Jesse grabbed the boy around the middle and hauled him hard against his side. "Now dammit, I said hold on!" Jesse yelled.
The boy immediately stilled, though Jesse could feel the tension in him beneath his arm. Not wanting to frighten the boy any more than he already was, Jesse said quietly, "Now, I'm not gonna hurt you, I just want to talk to you, all right?" When the boy slowly nodded, Jesse loosened his hold and turned him around to face him, shifting his hands to the boy's arms.
The boy jerked his head up to meet Jesse's gaze, his chin jutting in defiance. Jesse couldn't help but admire the kid's spunk. He reminded him a little of himself at that same age. But he knew he had to put the fe
ar of God in the kid. He couldn't have him or any other trespassers thinking that the Circle Bar was open for poaching.
"Do you know that you're on private property?" Jesse asked, forcing a level of sternness into his voice.
"I didn't do nothin' wrong," the boy replied defensively. "I was just fishin', and I even threw back everything I caught."
"The point is, you're trespassing. This land belongs to the Barristers and they don't welcome uninvited guests."
The boy raised his chin a little higher, making the cleft there a little more obvious. "The Barristers don't scare me none," he scoffed.
It was all Jesse could do not to laugh. "They don't, huh?"
"Nah. Besides, there ain't no Barristers left, 'cept the old lady and she's nothin' but an old bit—" He caught himself just shy of finishing the word, and Jesse had to wonder if he'd done so to avoid having his mouth washed out with soap in the event his mother caught wind of him cussing. "Nothin' but an old bat," the boy said instead.
Jesse had to fight hard to keep from grinning. "She is, huh?"
"Yes, sir, and that's a fact."
"Well, now, what if I was to tell you I was a Barrister?"
The boy's eyes widened before he could stop them, then narrowed to suspicious slits. "There ain't no more Barristers. Wade was the last, and he died more than a month ago."
"That's true enough … at least the part about old Wade dying." Jesse assessed the boy a moment. "If I let you go, will you promise not to run?"
The boy nodded warily, obviously still wondering about whether Jesse was in fact a Barrister.
Jesse loosened his grip on the boy's arms, then slowly dropped his hands. When the kid didn't bolt, Jesse eased a sigh of relief. "I'm Jesse Barrister, now who are you?"
"Jaime. Jaime McCloud," the boy added, squaring his shoulders proudly.
Jesse sucked in a sharp breath. A McCloud? Could he be Sam's or Merideth's son? Could he be… He took another hard look at the boy, taking in the cleft in the chin, the umber stain of his skin, the cowlick that kicked his hair up at the center of his forehead. No, he told himself. He couldn't be. The eyes were wrong … no—they were just right, he realized, his heart slamming hard against his chest.
They were the same unique shade of green as Mandy's.
Jesse jerked his head up to look at Pete, who remained astride his horse. But Pete's jaw was set, his eyes narrowed, and he refused to acknowledge Jesse's unasked question.
"What're you gonna do to me?" the boy asked, drawing Jesse's attention back to his face. To Jesse it was like looking in a mirror—or rather at a picture of himself at that same age.
"I—" Jesse had to clear his throat before he could answer. "I'm going to take you home to your parents."
The boy's shoulders visibly slumped.
"Do you have a problem with that?" Jesse asked.
"No, sir. It's just that I know I'm gonna get a whuppin' for sure this time," he mumbled miserably.
"And who's going to whip you?" Jesse asked, frowning, thinking that if Lucas McCloud dared to lay a hand on the kid, he'd personally make him pay.
"My mama. She's liable to skin me for sure."
"Does your mama make a habit of whipping you?"
"No, sir. But then I've never been caught on Barrister land before."
Jesse's frown deepened. It seemed that some things hadn't changed over the years. The feud between the Barristers and the McClouds still raged on.
Mandy tossed the last square of hay in the manger and closed the stall door behind her. Tucking the wire cutters into the hip pocket of her jeans, she strode angrily for the barn door. As soon as she found him, she was going to have a serious talk with her son. This was the third time this week he'd missed doing his chores.
When she stepped through the barn door, she put a hand at her brow to shade her eyes from the glaring sunlight overhead. Glancing around, she looked for a sign of Jaime. Unfortunately, the only person she saw was Gabe, her foreman, who was closing the gate on the corral behind him.
"Hey, Gabe!" she called, heading his way. "Have you seen Jaime?"
"No, ma'am. At least not lately," he added vaguely.
As she reached him, Mandy pursed her lips and folded her arms beneath her breasts. She was accustomed to her foreman and the other wranglers who worked the Double-Cross covering up her son's escapades. "Okay, so when did you see him last?"
Gabe dragged off his battered cowboy hat to scratch at his head. "Well, I'd guess that would've been this mornin'," he replied uneasily.
"And where was he?"
"In the barn, saddlin' his horse."
"And where was he headed?"
Gabe scratched his head again. "Cain't rightly say, though he did have his fishin' pole with him."
Mandy dropped her arms to her sides and rolled her eyes heavenward. "I swear I'm going to chain that boy to the house if he doesn't stop slipping off like this without getting his chores done first."
"Now, Miss Mandy," Gabe began.
"Don't you 'Miss Mandy' me," she scolded, shaking an accusing finger beneath his nose. "You know as well as I do that chores come first and it's high time Jaime started acting more responsibly. He's twelve years old, after all, and you and the boys have got to quit covering for him." When Gabe dipped his chin, she let out a huff of breath. "Oh, for heaven's sake," she muttered. "Don't give me that hangdog look."
Gabe lifted his head a tad, just high enough to peer at Mandy from beneath a thick overhang of bushy brows. "The boy's just got a touch of spring fever, is all. He's entitled to play hooky now and again. He's a good kid."
If missing his chores had been the only reason for her anger, Mandy might have agreed with Gabe, because Jaime was a good kid. But below the anger lay a thick layer of fear. She wanted to keep her son close to home and out of harm's way until she knew for certain that Jesse Barrister had left town.
Hooking an arm through Gabe's, she headed for the barn again. "I know. It's just that—"
At that moment, Mandy heard the pounding of hoof-beats and looked back over her shoulder to see two riders loping across the pasture toward them. She immediately recognized Jaime's sorrel mare and relief weakened her knees. She shifted her gaze, squinting against the glaring sunlight in an attempt to identify the other rider.
As recognition dawned, she dug her fingers into Gabe's arm. "Oh, my God! It's Jesse!"
"Don't you worry none, Miss Mandy," Gabe hurried to assure her. "I'll handle this."
Mandy stood at Gabe's side, watching as the riders drew near. "No," she murmured in a low voice as she withdrew her arm from his. "No," she repeated with a shake of her head. "I need to deal with this alone."
Though she could see that Gabe wanted to argue the point, he gave in with a sigh of defeat. "I'll be in the barn," he told her as he turned away. "If you need me, all you gotta do is give me a holler."
"Thanks, Gabe," she whispered, her gaze riveted on her son's face. She watched as he slowed his horse to first a trot, then a walk, studying his expression in an attempt to see if he showed any signs of physical or emotional damage. But all she saw was a reddening of his cheeks and downcast eyes that spoke of nothing but guilt.
But one look at Jesse's face and she knew that her secret was out. Dark accusing eyes pierced her from beneath the shadow of his black Stetson. Quickly she averted her gaze, focusing on her son again as the two riders reined their horses to a stop in front of her.
"Is there a problem?" she asked.
Jaime kept his head down, refusing to answer.
"I caught the boy trespassing on Barrister land," Jesse replied tersely.
Mandy's mouth fell open. "Jaime McCloud! What in heaven's name were you doing on the Circle Bar?"
If possible, Jaime's chin dug a deeper hole in his chest. "I didn't mean no harm," he muttered miserably. "I was just doin' a little fishin'."
"Whether you meant harm or not, you were breaking the rules. Both the Barristers' and mine." She firmed her lips to keep them from
trembling, already fearing the repercussions of her son's disobedience. "Take your horse to the barn and ask Gabe to take care of him for you, then I want you to go straight to the house and wait for me there."
"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled dejectedly and turned his horse toward the barn to do her bidding.
Mandy watched Jaime ride away, feeling the heat of Jesse's gaze on her back. Swallowing hard, she turned to face him.
Looking at him was difficult, for he hadn't changed much over the years, his handsome face the mirror image of her son's. All the old memories, the conflicting emotions he'd left her with, came rushing back and she steeled herself against their sting. "I apologize for my son's behavior and I assure you this will never happen again."
"He's mine, isn't he?"
The chilling words sent ice through Mandy's veins. Though she had feared this confrontation and had done everything in her power to avoid it, nothing had prepared her for the hate she saw in Jesse's eyes. At that moment, she knew she stood to lose Jaime, the son she had given birth to and raised on her own. But denying Jesse's accusation would do no good. "Jaime is a McCloud," she told him firmly. "I gave birth to him and I raised him alone without help from you or anybody else."
Which answered at least one of the questions that had haunted Jesse on the long ride to the Double-Cross. Mandy had never married.
"Through no fault of mine," Jesse returned. He swung down from the saddle, fisting his hand in the reins as he strode to face her, his face contorted in anger. "Why didn't you tell me I had a son?"
"Tell you!" Mandy repeated, taking a disbelieving step back. "You weren't here, remember? You took off without telling anyone where you'd gone."
Knowing she was right only made Jesse that much more angry. "I'm here now," he warned. "And I intend to claim the boy as my own."
When he whirled in the direction of the barn, Mandy lunged, grabbing for his arm. "Jesse, wait!" He snapped his head around, his eyes burning a hole in the fingers that held his arm. Mandy quickly dropped her hand to her side. "Please," she begged him. "Don't do this."
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